


Retribution

by MissNaya



Category: DCU
Genre: Blow Jobs, Broken Bones, Dirty Talk, Enemas, Exhibitionism, Fingerfucking, Forced Enemas, Lapdance, M/M, Mind Control, Revenge Sex, Self-Mutilation, Spanking, Strip Tease, Video Cameras, Watersports
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2018-11-06 13:08:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11036808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissNaya/pseuds/MissNaya
Summary: Jason tries to have a "talk" with Black Mask to get him to stop dealing to kids. However, Roman still hasn't forgotten what Jason did to him the last time they met, and it turns out, he has some new abilities to use during their rematch...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so like this operates on some weird plane of existence where Roman has his n52 mind control abilities but Under the Red Hood is still canon instead of Jason's n52 backstory, and Jason isn't a villain anymore, but he isn't buddy-buddy with the batfam yet either (don't worry about it)
> 
> I also don't really know the details about Black Mask's mind control and don't care, I'm in it for the porn
> 
> a lot of this was inspired by bits and pieces of different prompts I received on my [tumblr.](https://dicktofen.tumblr.com/) feel free to send me stuff!

Last time Jason had seen Roman Sionis, it had been when he was knee-deep in his whole “get revenge on Bruce” thing. Not really a great time for either of them, all things considered. Less so for Roman, but, y'know, that comes with the territory of going up against the Red Hood.

He's had some time to get away from Gotham and think. Time to reconnect with the bats and birds, however reluctantly. And yeah, maybe now he can agree that some of the things he did back then were a _little_ much. Others, however, he stands by. Which is why he finds himself smashing feet-first through a window into Roman's study, landing in a roll before standing and drawing his gun.

He'll never get tired of how Roman sounds when he sputters in surprise. Almost fondly, he closes the distance between them, slamming Roman's hand in his desk drawer before he can pull out his piece. He shoves the muzzle of his gun under Roman's chin.

“Long time, no see,” he greets. “Remember what I said about dealing to kids?”

Roman scoffs. He's twitching with pain, but his anger does a good job of hiding it. “Last I checked, you're not my boss, _freak._ And you're in for a world of hurt that's been a long time coming.”

Jason chuckles, like they're old friends catching up. He leans against Roman's desk, still keeping his hand trapped in the drawer. For kicks, he closes it a little tighter.

“Last _I_ checked, you didn't exactly come out on top when we tangoed. So we gonna do things the easy way or the hard way this time?”

Roman locks eyes with him — well, with his helmet — for a long moment. The guy doesn't really have the ability to make too many facial expressions with that ugly mug of his, but Jason could swear it almost seems like he's trying to smile.

“Do me one favor,” he says, and immediately, Jason feels on edge. “Take that dumb hood off first. I don't wanna find out I'm fighting another one of your decoys.”

Jason gives it a moment's consideration, figures he doesn't have much to lose, and shrugs. “Have it your way.” He lets go of the desk drawer, but jabs Roman's chin with his gun. “Stay.”

He delights in the way Roman's creepy eyes darken when he says that. With one hand, he undoes the catch on his hood, and lets it tumble to the ground. Face covered by only his red domino, he smiles.

“Better?”

“Almost.”

And _god,_ he forgot how fast the guy can move, because Roman snatches the domino off his face before he can react. He doesn't know what Roman expects to discover under there; it isn't like Jason Todd is a particularly memorable person, and even then, the last time the public saw him was years ago, before he died. He searches Roman's eyes for some sort of explanation, but all he finds is a flash of... red?

It strikes him for a second, how pretty the color is. It's like his hood, but brighter, _deeper_ somehow. He wants to drown in that shade of red. After a few seconds, he forgets what he was going to do in the first place.

He hears Roman start to chuckle.

“Now _that's_ better.” Roman lifts a hand to Jason's gun, cupping his fingers loosely over the barrel. “Why don't you put that down, son?”

Without hesitation, Jason sets it down on the desk. Roman straightens up, shaking out his injured hand before adjusting his tie.

“Good boy.”

The endearment sends a rush of pleasure through Jason's body. He finds, all of a sudden, that he _wants_ to be good. He wants to keep doing what Roman tells him.

He still has just enough presence of mind left that the realization makes him gape.

“What did you do to— What...?” he says, backing up a step and bringing his hands to his head. Something's wrong. Something's wrong with how he's thinking, but he doesn't know how to make it stop.

Ahead of him, Roman's mouth twists into something like a grin. “Don't you worry about that, boy. You and I are gonna have a real fun time together. You wanna have fun with me?”

Jason groans a bit in an attempt to tell Roman exactly where he can shove his “fun time,” but eventually, he slurs out, “Yes.”

“Good. That's real good. Come,” Roman says, stepping forward to guide him with a hand on his back. “You made a mess here, so we'll have to go somewhere else. You can clean it up later.”

Jason tries to protest, but his feet move without his say-so, and he lets Roman lead him out of the room. As they head into the hallway, Roman says, “I expect you to answer me when I talk to you. Call me 'Sir' while you're at it.”

Jason's stomach turns. “Yes, Sir.”

While they head to their destination, Jason's mind races, attempting to figure out how to break free of whatever sort of spell he's under. But his thoughts are so sluggish compared to the usual, and every time he thinks he has a plan, it slips from him like sand through his fingers. Eventually, all he can do is try to remind himself that he needs to fight against this, not give in to it.

When they enter a room filled with torture supplies as far as the eye can see, that goal becomes a little bit easier. Jason's eyes move from the St. Andrew's Cross in one corner to the rack in the other, over all the smaller rigs and weapons in between. The room smells like blood and piss and sweat, and it's got enough stains to match.

Roman closes and locks the door behind them.

“Now,” he says, coming around into Jason's line of sight. “How do you want to apologize?”

Jason's mouth drops open, and he fights with what feels like all his strength, but he can't so much as lift a finger. It seems like the only thing he has control of right now is his mouth, so he makes use of it.

“Go fuck yourself,” he says, “Sir.”

The last bit wasn't intentional, but it sure sounded like the perfect little sarcastic addition. Jason momentarily delights in the way Roman's eyes widen, but then he sees another flash of that bright, beautiful red, and he forgets why he was so amused.

“...You know what?” Roman says. “Not with a pretty little thing like you around.”

It takes a moment for those words to pierce the haze over Jason's mind and make their meaning apparent, but once he understands, his stomach drops. He wants to say no, wants to sock Roman in the face and grind his dick into hamburger meat for even suggesting it, but the new wave of disabling color makes him unable to do anything. All he can do is watch while Roman drags a wooden chair into the center of the room, before spending a few minutes setting up a camera on a tripod. Were Jason able to move, that would have been the thing to set his teeth on edge. Torturing him is one thing, but capturing it on film? There's no way he can let this happen.

But when Roman sits on the chair, legs spread, and beckons him forward, all Jason can do is obey.

“Sit,” Roman commands him, patting his thighs. Jason climbs into his lap, legs spread on either side of Roman's own. “Now, remind me again what you call yourself, sweet thing.”

“Red Hood,” Jason says, dimly aware of the camera's on light shining in his peripheral vision.

“Red Hood. The one and only.” Roman trails his hands down Jason's sides, onto his waist. “You and I have some history, don't we?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You made a lot of trouble for me.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And you're here to make it up to me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Go on, then,” Roman says, leaning back, hands draped loosely over Jason's thighs. “Impress me.”

Jason has no idea what he's supposed to do, but his body does the work for him. He slides his hands up his chest, and when they reach his collarbone, he moves to slide his jacket off of himself. It falls in a heap of leather to the floor, and Jason runs his hands up through his hair, hips swirling as if he's dancing to some silent tune.

No. No, no, _fuck_ no, there is no way this is happening. Jason tries to thrash, tries to scream, tries to at least stop himself from moving, but all he can do is look on in horror while his own body betrays him. He undoes the clasps on his body armor next, shedding himself of that, and continues to strip himself until his upper body is on full display. The entire time, his hips rock, and he can feel Roman start to harden underneath him.

“The scars are a little ugly,” Roman remarks, trailing a finger over the jagged white lines on his torso. “What do you think?”

“I agree, Sir,” Jason says.

“Think there's anything you can do to make yourself a little cuter?”

Jason can't answer, because Roman is pressing that finger into his mouth. Jason wraps his lips around it greedily, licking and sucking while Roman pumps it in and out. Soon enough, Roman's other hand comes up, grabbing his jaw and pulling him close to his chest. The new angle has him looking directly at the camera, eyes hooded while Roman fucks his face with a finger. He adds a second one, then a third, and Jason can't bite them no matter how hard he tries.

“Always hated that big mouth of yours,” Roman says. “This is a much better use for it.”

Jason murmurs indistinctly around the fingers. His hips continue to sway over Roman's, and by now, both of them are hard, despite the nausea in his stomach.

Then Roman pulls his fingers out, and that sick feeling increases tenfold when he shoves his hand down the back of Jason's pants. He feels the wet swipe of those digits for just a second before all three of them push in, nowhere near slick enough to make the intrusion feel good. Even though Roman only goes up to the first knuckle, Jason feels impossibly stretched.

He realizes after a second that those dull groaning noises he's hearing are coming from his own throat. Roman speaks over him like nothing is wrong.

“Like that?” he asks, free hand still cupping Jason's jaw. “You like the camera, huh, boy?”

Jason realizes he's been staring into the lens this whole time. The red light glaring at him reminds him so much of the red in Roman's eyes, and he's flooded with euphoria that makes him go even more slack than before. The sudden burst of relaxation allows Roman's fingers to slide in even deeper.

“Yeh-hes, Sir,” he moans, barely able to get the words out.

“Like being watched?”

“Yeah, Sir. Yes, Sir. Good, Sir...!”

Roman shoves all his fingers as deep as they'll go, and Jason's eyes roll up into the back of his head, drool streaking down the corner of his mouth. He can't stand the thought of how he must look on camera, can't handle the idea that someone else might see him like this one day.

“Such a little slut. Y'know, when you first came here offering to make things up to me, I thought you were full of shit,” Roman says. “But I'm glad I took you up on it.”

Jason seethes inwardly, but he can't set the record straight. He can't even straighten his own back, slumped bonelessly on Roman's lap.

“What caused the change of heart, huh? Or did you always want things to end up like this?” Roman asks.

Whatever spell he's under makes Jason say, “Wanted you. _So_ bad. Just wanna be punished, Sir, _nngh..._ ”

“You're lucky I'm so generous,” Roman says, before pulling his fingers out. He tugs his hand out of Jason's pants and gives his ass a dismissive slap. “Get up. Get those off for me.”

Jason stands on shaky legs and turns around. His belts and holsters come off one by one, then his boots, and finally, he pushes down his pants and boxers, bending over while he does. He feels Roman's eyes on him, so goddamn _intimate,_ and moans.

“Wait.” Roman stills him with one hand on his own. “Here. Let everyone see.”

Jason wants to ask who “everyone” is, but he's just pulled back onto Roman's lap, bent over it this time. Roman spreads him open with both hands, showing him off to the camera.

“Bet you can't wait to get this hole fucked,” Roman says, running his fingers up and down over it. “Think you deserve that?”

“No, Sir,” Jason says, and it's true, but for different reasons than he's sure Roman has in mind.

“'Course not. I'll get a switch later, but for now...”

Roman brings a hand down on Jason's ass so hard that the resulting _slap_ echoes off of the walls. Jason's unable to muffle his own startled yelp.

Without any more preamble, Roman rains a barrage of those slaps down on his ass, alternating between cheeks. Some strikes hit low, where his thighs meet his ass, and others catch his balls, sending white-hot pain up his spine. It's during those times when Jason's noises sound less like groans and more like whimpers. Whether it's because he's been allowed to or because a bit of his own willpower is shining through, Jason grips the legs of the chair with shaking, white-knuckled hands.

He doesn't know how long it goes on for, doesn't have the presence of mind to count, but by the time Roman's hand stills and rubs over his sore flesh, he feels like his skin will stay raw for a week. If he lives that long.

“Good boy,” Roman croons, sliding a hand between his legs. “And look: still hard.”

Sure enough, when Roman grips his cock, it throbs, standing at full attention. Jason lets out a shuddering little breath, shivering from head to toe. Roman pulls it back between his legs, giving him a few long, slow strokes.

“You really like pain, don't you?”

“Y-yes, Sir.”

“And being humiliated, from the looks of it.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Feels like I'm spoiling you. How 'bout you do something for me, hmm?”

Roman shoves him off his lap, and Jason catches himself on his elbows, struggling to stay upright. He doesn't have to try that hard before Roman grabs him by the hair and yanks him up to his knees. He can see the bulge in Roman's lap now instead of just feeling it, and god, the bastard's lucky enough to have a sizable fucking cock, from the looks of it. Jason tries to glare up at him, but his mouth waters, and his protests melt away when he meets those red, red eyes again.

Roman tugs open his pants with his free hand, pulling out and loosely fisting his cock. “How bad do you want this, Red?”

“ _So_ bad,” Jason replies, and he's shocked to find out just how much he truly means it. Every part of his body aches with need, and it's becoming harder and harder for him to remember why he's been fighting for so long. He can smell the musk on Roman, practically feel the heat radiating off his cock, and it's like that combo is the key to breaking down what remains of his mind.

“Please, Sir, let me suck it. I'll make it so good for you. Want your cum in my throat, Sir, wanna feel you inside me, god, _please...!_ ”

“Well,” Roman chuckles, “since you asked so nicely...”

Roman guides Jason's head to his crotch, and immediately, Jason wraps his lips around the head. He keeps his eyes on Roman's face, on his intoxicating eyes, and feels tears prick at the corners of his own. He's never felt anything as intense as this. This desire, this all-encompassing _need_ to give Roman whatever he wants and then some, hits him harder than anything else ever has. He feels like that's a bad thing, for some reason, but why? Why would he ever want to get _away_ from Roman? It doesn't make any sense. He's so lucky to have someone like Roman to keep his head clear and tell him what to do.

In thanks, he bobs his head, sucking hard and wet and sloppy. He replaces Roman's hand with his own at the base of his cock, but it doesn't stay there long. No, he knows he can do better, so he slides down, relaxing his throat to take in everything Roman has to give him. The feeling of his cockhead down his throat is almost orgasmic in and of itself, but when Roman starts to buck his hips up, Jason really does cry. God, he's never felt anything so amazing in his _life._

He rocks his hips, but they hover a few inches off the ground, just a little too far up for him to grind down on the concrete. He whimpers around Roman's cock, desperate for sensation, even if it hurts skin that's already raw. He recalls with stunning clarity the tools Roman has lining every wall of the room, and wishes with every bit of himself to feel those things cutting into his skin. Anything, _anything_ to get Roman's cock to twitch the way it is in his throat right now.

His thoughts move to the edge of hysteria before he's finally pulled up and off of Roman's cock, which is when he abruptly realizes he needs to breathe. Stars drain from his vision as he gulps down air, face sticky with spit that runs in rivulets down to his chest.

“Goddamn mess,” Roman says, while Jason tries and fails to lick his cock. He's so _close,_ but Roman's hand in his hair keeps him away, and he whimpers like a kicked puppy. “So fucking desperate. I almost feel sorry for you. What do you want, baby?”

Jason's eyes lock on Roman's other hand as it strokes up and down his cock. “I wanna suck you, Sir,” he says. “ _Please,_ I wanna taste your cum. Please come in my mouth. Make me swallow it, Sir, _god..._ ”

Roman chuckles, harsh and low. “I don't have to _make_ you. You'll do that all on your own, won't you?”

When Roman trails the head of his cock over his lips, Jason's eyes roll into the back of his head. He shudders in bliss. “ _Yes,_ Sir.”

“I _guess_ I could let you have it,” Roman says with an overblown sigh. “But on one condition.”

“Anything!” Jason barks out before he has a chance to think about it. Thinking seems overrated right now. “I'll do _anything,_ Sir. Anything for you. Please, please—”

“Alright, alright!” Roman says, batting at his face like he's an untrained dog sticking his nose in human food. “Sit.”

Jason sits back on his heels, even though it makes the skin of his ass light up with pain.

Something in Roman's eyes darken. “Stay.”

Jason keeps his hands on his own thighs and does as he's told.

Again, Roman strokes his own length, slowly and methodically, and again, Jason feels a jealousy that hits him deep in the pit of his chest.

“Surrender yourself to me. I mean entirely. I want the big, bad Red Hood on his knees at my beck and call, ready to take my cock whenever I ask. That sound good?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Jason sobs.

“Yes?”

“Sir!”

“Say it, then.”

“I'm yours,” Jason babbles, tears cutting paths down his cheeks whenever he blinks. “I'm yours, Sir. Use me however you want. I wanna be your little toy, Sir, please, Sir, keep me here, lemme stay...!”

“Hush.” Roman presses his fingertips to Jason's lips. “I'm glad you and I want the same thing, Red. Here now, princess, come finish me off...”

Jason doesn't need to be told twice. He nestles between Roman's legs, eagerly bobbing his head as soon as he's able. He sucks and slobbers on Roman's cock with all the grace of a starving man, his own dick leaking big beads of precum onto the floor. Roman grabs his hair and bucks his hips and says all the best things to him, like “Take it, you whore,” and “Not so scary now, huh?” and “Jesus _fuck_ , that mouth of yours...”

Eventually, he surrenders, letting Roman hold onto either side of his head and slam him up and down. The pain in his hair spreads like wildfire, and his throat muscles throb with pain, but nothing makes him feel better than being used as Roman's little fuck-hole. And when he tastes that first burst of cum at the back of his tongue, he nearly sobs, so grateful he thinks he might explode.

He swallows it all down as it comes, never choking or spilling a drop, and even after Roman is done, Jason sucks on him, hoping to taste just a little bit more. He doesn't, but that makes him feel like he's taken everything Roman has to give, and god, he's so _lucky,_ he can't stop the thanks from spilling out of his lips as soon as they're free.

“Thank you, Sir, thank you, Sir, thank you,” he gasps, cock feeling impossibly heavy where it hangs between his legs. “You taste so good, Sir, I want more...”

“More?” Roman looks down at him and scoffs, relaxing with one arm behind his head. “You milked me like a damn cow. I don't have any— ...Hold on.”

Jason's feelings are a mess of pride and disappointment and hope. His whole world is Roman, what he wants and what he needs and what he gives, so when Roman shoots that quizzical look at him, he straightens his back, trying to look ready. He's a good boy. Good boys are always ready for anything that gets thrown at them.

“I don't have any more cum right now, sweetcheeks,” Roman says, rubbing the side of his face with one callused hand. Jason leans into it like a cat, drunk on the touch. When Roman pulls his hand away and stands up, he nearly pouts. “But you don't care what it is you get from me, do you?”

Jason shakes his head. “Want you, Sir,” he says. “ _Anything._ ”

“C'mere,” Roman says, grabbing Jason by the shoulders to move him around. He sits him on his knees with his back to the chair, legs spread as wide as they'll go with his pants still bunched up around them. He can feel the camera on him like a second set of eyes, and he hopes he looks good for it. “Open up.”

Jason looks up at Roman, mouth opened, tongue out. He doesn't know what's coming, but he doesn't dare disobey orders to ask. And that satisfied look on Roman's face as he lines his cock up makes it all worth it.

“Keep that mouth nice and wide for me,” he says. “Good little slut.”

Jason arches his back to get even closer to the tip of Roman's cock, whining a little in his impatience. Luckily, he doesn't have to wait long. A hot burst of _something_ comes out of the tip, and Jason swallows it down before he even realizes what it is. Then the taste and smell hit him.

Piss. God, it's his piss.

One small, long-forgotten part of Jason pipes up again, telling him he should be disgusted. Again, he wonders why. Why would he ever complain about Roman giving him more? More of _him,_ something else to mark him up and claim him, inside and out. Jason ignores his own muffled protests, moaning as Roman's hot, wet stream fills his mouth and trickles over his chin.

Swallowing means closing his mouth, which means missing some. That's okay, though, because what he doesn't catch spills down his chest and over his stomach, and he feels it on his cock, and _god,_ that's almost enough to make him come. Roman chuckles and changes direction, pissing on his cheek, in his hair, and Jason closes his eye against the sting, whining and bucking his hips.

Eventually, that, too, trickles to a stop, but Roman, so thoughtful and considerate and way too good to Jason, lets him lick the head of his cock clean. He feels Roman's piss dripping over him, cooling on his skin, puddling underneath him, and smiles a dazed smile.

“Thank you, Sir. I-I love it, Sir.”

“Really?” Roman asks. “You love being covered in piss?”

Jason catches him glancing toward the camera. He doesn't look away from Roman, only nods. “Yours, Sir. Love being yours.”

“...Cute,” Roman says. He tucks himself back into his pants, then ruffles the dry part of Jason's hair. “Glad we agree on something. Now, if you'll excuse me, I know a few people who would just _love_ to see you've had a change of heart. Don't touch yourself; I'll be back.”

Jason watches Roman as he walks over to turn off the camera. He fixes it with one last, blissful smile before the red light goes dark.

“Yes, Sir.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember this fic? I sure do! this is a small update, but rest assured, there'll be more. it just feels like it's been forever since I've posted something, and since I have a ton of long WIPs in the works, I wanted to tide you guys over with something bite-sized. hope it helps whet your whistle!

Time passes differently when Roman’s not around. Jason tries to keep track of the minutes, but he can’t bring himself to focus. Whenever he starts up a count, something distracts him: the hardness of his cock, or the smell of piss hanging in the air, or Roman’s voice echoing in his head over and over, words overlapping into a symphony of the most calming music Jason’s ever heard. He almost nods off to it, but something inside him tugs him awake and keeps him alert.

He’s never felt anything as intense as this. The desire broiling in the pit of his stomach is so all-encompassing that it very nearly drowns out everything else. If he tries his hardest, he can pin down a different feeling, though. It’s an uneasy one, one that tells him to get up and run as fast as he can. But why? What’s there to run from? He zeroes in on the question, and almost,  _ almost _ has an answer.

Then the door opens, and it vanishes.

“Alright, you stupid slut,” says a voice, and Jason perks up immediately when he recognizes it as Roman’s. “I’m back. Did you miss me?”

Jason fixes him with a dazed grin. “Yes, Sir.”

“Hn.” Roman scrutinizes him, like he’s looking for something to stand out. Jason stays still, hands on his knees, and lets him stare. “Red, do daddy a favor, will you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Break your trigger finger for me.”

Jason doesn’t hesitate. He grabs his pointer finger and bends it back until it snaps. The pain makes him want to scream, but it comes out as little more than a dull moan. Some conscious awareness flickers inside him, telling him that he needs to break free, but then Roman coos “ _ Good boy, _ ” and… Free of what?

Roman turns and jerks his head toward the hallway. “Let’s get your mess from before all cleaned up.”

Jason says “Yes, Sir” and follows after him.

 

He picks up the broken glass in Roman’s office with his bare hands, finger still jutting out at an angle. The shards cut into the skin of his palms and his knees, but he hardly cares. He bleeds, which seems to make Roman happy, so it makes Jason happy, too. Even when he rakes his hands through the carpet to try and get up all the little pieces, and they dig into him and stick there, he doesn’t think to complain.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” Roman says at last. Jason immediately stops with his hands over the trash can beside him. A few big, red drops of blood drip down his palms and into the bag. Such a pretty color…

Roman sneers down at him. “Got blood all over the carpet. Nevermind; can’t have you trying to shampoo it with your hands like that. Come with me.”

Jason follows him again, all the way back to the room with the weapons and chains. Roman directs him to stand in the center of the room near a drain in the floor and hold his hands out.

“You smell disgusting,” he says, unlooping a hose from a stand on the wall. “Stay just like that.”

He turns the water on, and the spray is so harsh that it nearly knocks Jason off his feet when it first hits him. But Roman told him to stay still, so he does, even when the water leaves red marks on his body and nearly chokes him while it washes off his face and hair. His hands, though, those are the worst part. The force of the water pushes at his broken finger so hard that he actually does cry out in pain this time, eyes burning from the sting of tears.

“Don’t be a baby,” Roman says, so Jason shuts his mouth. “Get down on your knees and bend over. Spread your ass for me.”

“Y-yes, S-s-sir.”

He can’t keep the tremble out of his voice no matter how hard he tries. He’s shaking all over from the cold and the pain, his erection long gone. For just a second, bent over like that, he remembers that this is fucked up and he needs to  _ leave, _ but then an overpowering wave of Roman’s voice hits him and drowns his worries out.

_ You like this, _ it says.

_ You want this. _

_ Be a good boy. _

_ You’re Black Mask’s bitch. You’ve always been his bitch. Your only purpose in life is to please him. _

Jason spreads himself open with the fingers he can still move.

The water doesn’t sound so loud anymore. Roman steps up behind him, and Jason realizes when the spray hits his asshole that it’s been turned down. For a second, the cold feels good against his abused hole. Then Roman pushes forward until the metal nozzle presses inside him, and— and— No, that’s not right.

“Wait—”

When he looks over his shoulder, the red of Roman’s eyes glint at him.

_ Masochist. Freak. Slut. You like being hurt. It gets you off. You’re a stupid little pain-slut cumdump bitch. _

The only thing that comes out of Jason’s mouth is a shaky moan. The water pumps inside him, slow but steady, until he feels his stomach start to ache. And, because he’s a dumb whore who loves pain, he moans again, fingers digging hard into his spread asscheeks.

Abruptly, Roman pulls the hose out and presses a few fingers up to Jason’s hole. “Hold it.”

Jason whimpers, toes curling with the effort it takes to keep himself still. The water sloshes around in his stomach, making his belly distend just a bit. He feels like he might vomit if he has to hold back for too much longer, but Roman doesn’t seem to care. He just keeps his hand pressed firmly down, instructing Jason with low, sultry words to keep at it whenever it seems like he might waver.

Finally,  _ finally, _ he moves his hand and says “Go.” Jason exhales with his forehead against the cold concrete floor and does exactly that.

All that water rushing out of him at once is nearly orgasmic. He huffs and puffs, rocking his hips, but his cock is too far above the floor for it to matter. It feels like it goes on forever, like he’s being emptied of all his insides, but then it trickles to a stop.

And Roman brings the hose up to fill him a second time.

 

Jason loses count of how often it happens, Roman pushing him to his limits and then letting him collapse in on himself. By the end of it, he’s weeping, cock flushed and dripping precum onto the floor.

“Thank you,” he sobs. “Thank you, Sir, thank you, Sir,  _ thank youuuu oh my god…” _

Roman only says, “Move your hands.”

Jason does, and Roman rinses off his backside, presumably to get rid of the blood from his hands. His thighs and legs get a good wash as well, limbs shaking when Roman directs him to stand.

He feels so empty now. Too empty.

“Please,” he says, sniffling, as Roman goes to shut off the water. “I n-need your c-cock, Sir. I-I c-c-can’t—”

Can’t live without it? Can’t move? Can’t stop crying like the little bimbo he is? Jason isn’t sure. Roman doesn’t give him time to think about it ( _ and thank him for that, always freeing Jason of his complicated thoughts _ ), directing him to another side of the room. Jason leaves clammy wet footprints on the concrete as he goes.

“Hands out,” Roman says. “Let’s get those all bandaged.”

Jason complies, albeit still teary-eyed. “Sir?”

Roman ignores him. He swabs over his cuts with something that smells antiseptic and feels like acid. Jason whimpers long and loud.

“ _ Sir…! _ ”

“Quiet.”

Jason shuts his mouth. Roman continues to clean out his wounds, then wrap his hands in bandages. He’s so careful, so precise; the process takes what feels like ten thousand years, Jason leaking from his cock the whole time. Then, slowly, delicately, Roman takes hold of his jagged pointer finger.

“You’re allowed to come, pretty boy.”

Roman snaps it back into place, and Jason howls with the force of his orgasm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, feel free to suggest more for poor Jason to go through, either here or on [tumblr.](https://dicktofen.tumblr.com/) :)

**Author's Note:**

> should I make a sequel where someone from the batfam gets the video and shows up? if so, who? let me know in the comments or on tumblr!


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